


this memory on the map i trace

by kiden



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:10:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21920842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiden/pseuds/kiden
Summary: "Cloud runs from Midgar, from Edge, from a sword stuck in the earth overlooking all of it."
Relationships: Zack Fair/Cloud Strife
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40
Collections: FF7 Secret Santa 2019





	this memory on the map i trace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chanterai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanterai/gifts).



The world gets greener and greener the further he gets from what’s left of Midgar. The sky opens up, turns blue from grey, and the clouds are so white, moving so fast, it looks like an ocean crashing against the shore. Cloud runs from Midgar, from Edge, from a sword stuck in the earth overlooking all of it. It’s dirty and rusting and anyone might think it’s been forgotten, but Cloud feels the phantom weight of it, all the time, against his back. Pressing down on his shoulders. 

He trades his motorcycle in for a chocobo at the ranch, leaves his swords and armor and all that heaviness with Bill, and rides until the grass under them turns to sand. Aerith’s not here on the beach, and neither is Zack, even though Cloud can feel the Lifestream churning in the tide. It’s selfish to want to see them again, and he feels greedy to want them out here, alone, far away from the church and all the people who baptize themselves clean in that water now. But it’s quiet for miles around and Cloud feels safe to pretend. 

To imagine they are his, in the way love can feel like _belonging._

And love is a tether that doesn’t break no matter how far he runs, or for how long, or even when death touches it. 

* * *

There’s a voice in his ear. It’s just as familiar as the body cocooned around him. He wakes up and can’t remember anything, but he knows these two things. This person, with his cold nose pressed against the back of his neck. The voice says a lot of things, but more than anything else it says: _Cloud_ . And the arms around him hold on a little tighter. Cloud, the voice says, _he says,_ you’re going to be okay. 

He thinks it must be his name. Hopes that it is. The way the voice says it, so softly, so tenderly, _Cloud._ Like it means a dozen things, all of them beautiful and cared for. 

The man with him is always there. Cloud closes his eyes for a few hours, or days, or months, and when he wakes up again, the man is right next to him. He talks all the time, whispering at night, loud over the rain, and as warmly as the sun feels. Cloud can’t do much - doesn’t understand the things the man is saying, has no control over his arms or legs, and when he tries to talk his mouth feels sewn shut, his tongue sticky and swollen, but he feels safe. It’s safe wherever he is. 

Cloud knows that because the voice tells him so.

* * *

The truck sways dangerously on the uneven road they’re travelling on. There are no paved highways this far from Midgar - it’s all winding paths through mountains, streams you have to hope are shallow enough this time of year to drive across, and big open deserts with sand so dry that it kicks up and clogs the engine. It’s not so much _dangerous_ to lean his shoulder against Zack’s as it is precarious. Zack is just as unsteady as he is, even sitting down, and there’s no telling what the purposeful quietness of Sephiroth means. 

Maybe he disapproves or maybe he doesn’t care, but he notices the way Cloud’s hand slips easily into Zack’s.

It’s new. It feels so big they need two hands to carry it. 

Zack says, “Don’t be nervous.”

He’s only two years older than Cloud but he’s so much stronger, so much more confident, and he can feel the power inside Zack with their fingers tangled and palms pressed together. So what? So he didn’t make SOLDIER - he’s still young. And he’s here, isn’t he? On this mission with Zack and the world famous Sephiroth. There’s still so much time to prove to everyone, to himself, what he can be. Going home doesn’t have to be embarrassing.

“You’re already making a name for yourself,” Zack says quietly. Playfully, he adds, “You’re not just any other grunt.”

“Yeah, sure,” Cloud says, and scoots down to cover half his face in his uniform. 

“To me?” Zack whispers. “Already a hero. I’ll beat up anyone who says differently. Have you seen my sword?”

Zack wags his eyebrows.

“Stop,” Cloud’s voice is muffled through his sweater, but he can’t hide the embarrassing giggle that pops out of him. “He’ll hear.” 

“Let him,” he says, and holds Cloud’s hand tighter. “I can take him.” 

“Have you seen _his_ sword?” Cloud says. “I doubt it.” 

The truck bounces, again, almost bottoms out on the road, and everyone nearly falls over. Again. Except Sephiroth who, as always, seems unmoveable. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen it,” Zack says. “But only the metal one.” 

* * *

When he catches glimpses of his reflection, Cloud thinks, this is me, I’m me, I’m not me. He thinks, I don’t know who this person is. His clothes feel like being home and under blankets on a stormy day. He knows they smell like the soap Aerith bought when they were in Costa del Sol - coconuts and vanilla and chemicals underneath - but sometimes Cloud smells dirt and the wet forest and mint. Can smell something so cold it feels warm.

It’s not real.

* * *

“I love you, you know that?” the voice says.

It’s dark and cold and wet. The arms around him are shaking, but not as hard as his own body is. The numbness that has overtaken his hands and feet is crawling steadily upwards, like frozen fingers reaching towards his chest.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he says, “I’d do all this anyway. Even if I didn’t. I would never leave anyone there like that. In that place. But - but it’s not anyone, right? It’s you. I’m going to keep you safe, Cloud. I swear. I swear it, okay? Don’t be scared.”

The voice is so soft and its hold on him so gentle. Cloud wishes he knew its name.

“Don’t be scared.”

Aerith whispers it between flowers, the rustle of autumn petals, loosely waiting to disappear a strong wind. Where the sunlight forces its way through rubble and debris to shine in on dark, musty places. When he dreams, they stand back to back, and Cloud isn’t scared at all. She’s as radiant as midday.

She says, don’t be scared. He misses you too.

The voice’s name is Zack. A name of remembrance. 

Cloud loses himself in the Lifestream, where all time is happening all at once. He’s a child, under an endless sky of stars with Tifa. He’s a teenager, only sixteen, and in love for the first time. There are dark years that go on for decades, and when he wakes up, there’s a body he knows as well as his own, skin he’s felt under his hands, so close but he cannot reach out to touch him. He’s twenty-one, and he has loved again, and lost again, and the world he’s trying so hard to save keeps _taking_ from him. 

He’s twenty-three and in a church. He’s on his knees.

* * *

“I promised him I’d live for the both of us,” Cloud says, even though the chocobo doesn’t seem to care much. “I’m not sure I know how to do that. I don’t think I can, most of the time.”

The ocean breathes, the water rises and falls, stretches out to him and pulls back. It’s alive the same way the past is - unimaginably deep and moving, twisting, reshaping itself. Water that carves out coastlines and rivers through barren lands and mountains, the way it moves, the way it tells a story. 

And in places where it doesn’t rain anymore, it leaves scars. Caves and canyons and cliffs, cut sharp by glaciers long gone. A map of memory. 

Aerith would say all it takes is to keep going. To let people in. That he only needs to open himself and let the rain bring life to those barren places. He’s already come so far, what’s a few more steps or miles or years. There’s a family waiting and they’ll help tend to the garden that longs to grow inside of him. All he has to do is let them. 

Life always comes back. To deserts waiting to be green again. To a burnt forest.

And maybe that’s enough. 

“Okay,” Cloud says, rising to his feet. It’s time to go home. “Let’s mosey.”

* * *

The man isn’t breathing anymore. Cloud rests his hand on his chest and it’s not moving. His eyes are open, his lips parted, but he’ll never see anything ever again and he’ll never talk, the way he was always talking. One day he will miss the sound of his voice. 

Somewhere inside him, hidden underneath all the things he cannot remember, the blank spots, Cloud is sure that he loves him, too. More than that - this man is a part of him, the same as a limb, or his heart still beating - the thoughts in his head, the way he swings a sword, the words that come from his own mouth. They are his, and Cloud’s, and there is no room between where this man ends and he beings. That’s how love is, that’s how he belongs, and Cloud will never let anyone hurt him again.

Now it’s Cloud’s turn to carry him the rest of the way. To bring him home, where it’s safe.

* * *

It’s a mistake. It must be a mistake. But it sure as hell doesn’t feel like one.

Zack is taller than him by a few inches, and strong enough to lift Cloud right off his feet. He pushes him against the brick wall behind the inn, mouth open and hovering teasingly over his own, and the heat that flares to life inside Cloud could burn them both alive. Zack slides his lips over Cloud’s, but his mouth closes in a sweet, deceptively wholesome smile. He keeps smiling until Cloud’s wanting frown melts away and he’s smiling too.

Zack is so stupid. He’s the most stupid and gorgeous person Cloud has ever known.

“Stop,” Cloud says, but doesn’t mean it. “Someone will see.”

“Who?” Zack asks, whispering softly along Cloud’s jaw. Trapping him between his hot, solid body and the wall. “You’re always worried about that. _Someone will see!_ Who? Sephiroth again?”

“No - yes. I don’t know. Him, the - the townspeople? Other… people.”

Zack laughs and drags his lips down the side of Cloud’s neck, heated and flushed red. He bites playfully at his shoulder, just where the uniform sweater has pulled back. 

“Who cares? Who cares about any of that?” 

Cloud does. He definitely cares. But it’s difficult to remember that when Zack is moving against him so carefully, so deliberately, with such intention. It’s difficult to think about anything at all. His mind empties and fills again. And Cloud feels guilty, but elated, just for a moment, thinking it would be okay if the only thing he knew, for the rest of his life, was this moment. If all he remembers, forever, is Zack. 


End file.
